


The Need to be Etched Somewhere

by iammisscullen



Category: One Direction
Genre: Bottom Zayn, Headcanon, M/M, Top Harry, Zayn's bandana mystery in The Big Weekend at Glasgow, a bit of angry sex, idek, mentions of other boys and Paul, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:46:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry never remembers to forget. And Zayn had forgotten, well, Harry only needs to remind the boy about things and people that should never be deleted from memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Need to be Etched Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, this is my first smut so bear w/ me yeah? I just needed this out of my system. Blame Zayn and that stupid red bandana.

**  
**

_The thirst that from the soul doth rise_

_Doth ask a drink divine;_

_But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,_

_I would not change for thin._

**-Ben Jonson** , _Song to Celia_

 

_**_

Harry isn’t sure what to feel at the moment, he rarely does if you ask him. You can’t blame him either with the life he’s living, every moment like a candy with a surprise centre. It’s like every turn in the curb is different and it often catches Harry off guard, that he’s left overwhelmed. But this time it isn’t just the moment– One Direction, performing for three sold out concert at Croke Park Stadium – that makes Harry’s breathe stuck in his throat, it’s about seeing someone he hasn’t seen for days –years in Harry’s calendar.

There’s a rush of something in his veins that he can’t seem to hold still, couldn’t concentrate on anything else but _that_ moment, the one when his eyes would lock gazes with hazel ones and suddenly it’s just the two of them and the world around them doesn’t exist. Take note, they’re just gazing and Harry’s sure that his insides would become puddles if they touch, the kind with high electricity voltage that’s like a punch to his heart. And yes, maybe he goes a bit crazy with the mere thought of the things that he would do later – things that aren’t connected to the concert at all.

So when Harry enters the stadium grounds, his hand itches with anticipation and his heart beats rapidly as if it’s on a run. There’s no way of denying himself now of that joy and intoxication of seeing, smelling, touching, and kissing Zayn. He almost run through the dressing room, where he knows the tan boy would be, probably dozing off. They’ll be doing soundcheck in a few hours but that could wait. Anything else could wait.

But Harry’s a patient boy, he knows that he should endure a bit to savour everything later – savour Zayn and all his glory. So Harry greets some of the crew and talks to them, his heart already aching and his feet tapping themselves on the floor with impatience, ready to flee wherever Zayn is.

He meets Niall along the way and gives the boy a hug. It’s a huge moment for the blonde boy, Harry knows. There’s an exchange of _Hello_ s and _How are you_ s between them. Thank goodness that Niall seems to be on a rush to be somewhere as well as he bids Harry a quick goodbye, telling him that they’ll catch up more during soundcheck.

That’s how he finds himself, mid-run towards the dressing room. He enters the pin code that Paul had texted him. And the door seems to open in slow motion that Harry –losing all his patience somehow− barges the door ajar with his shoulder. And it’s actually a different of breathe-stuck-in-his-throat moment that beholds Harry that instant. His heart falls on the floor and his knees nearly gives in. You can’t blame him again because the person he’s over-the-rainbow-for-with-happiness is currently playing tickle fight with Liam.

Zayn looks like he’s about to die of joy, playing with Liam. And Harry’s about to die as well… of jealousy.

Harry didn’t expect Zayn to fetch him at the airport. That would have been ridiculous. But deep down –like very deep, deep down− Harry’s wistful that Zayn (the ever so romantic-in-denial) will be waiting for him at the airport, open arms, and maybe –just MAYBE− the tan boy will sweep Harry off his feet (literally!) as they twirl in an embrace. That didn’t happen of course. Too chick flick.

What happens though is far from what Harry has imagined. At least he wished that Zayn would be waiting for him and longing for him like he’s missing the other boy. That didn’t happen as well. So if Harry kills Zayn with his We-haven’t-seen-each-other-in-like-forever-and-this-is-how-you-welcome-me-makes-you-a-fucking-asshole glare, it will all be Zayn’s fault. But Zayn didn’t notice.

What’s poor-and-rejected Harry has to do?

He leaves.

He fucking leaves because he fucking doesn’t care about Zayn Malik anymore. He doesn’t. And he won’t. He shall write it on stones.

Harry will carve it on his epitaph: _I don’t fucking care about Zayn Malik_. And maybe it will be real then because it’s not so real now as his heart breaks into two and then into tiny million pieces, a tear escaping his eyes.

He wipes away the rogue tear and heads to a different room − one that would be free of Zayn and his fucking perfection, would be free of cigarette smell and brown eyes and beautiful smiles with tongue behind teeth. But who is he fooling? Even with ten days apart, he could still memorize every part of Zayn, every smell –how the boy smells when he is newly shaven, when he just finishes a fag, when he’s perspiring from the concert, when he’s newly awaken. There isn’t a cure to make him forget any of those. There isn’t any potion or medicine that could make Harry not remember Zayn. On the contrary Harry’s heart is practically living under the oath of: _I’ll never remember to forget you_.

His heart breaks without his consent as he thinks that Zayn didn’t remember him. Harry Styles is someone Zayn Malik would easily forget. He isn’t asking much is he? There they go again with attention.

Harry needs attention, unfortunately for him, Zayn’s oblivious or some shitty twat who prefers not to give what Harry wants. Either way, it’s painful for Harry. As John Green had written in pages, _“That’s the thing about pain, it demands to be felt.”_ And the pain Harry did feel.

**

Harry remains cool with the whole “forgetting” thing. He did well on soundcheck, he chats with the other lads –except Zayn, who didn’t made eye contact or approach him at all. Harry’s fine.

Harry’s fine.

Then boom! It’s the next day and Harry hasn’t even talked, kissed, and touched Zayn. Not even an accidental bump of hands. And Harry’s about to go crazy with want and need. Thirst for Zayn. For anything that Zayn has to give.

From Dublin to Glasgow, nothing has change. It’s all dead and barren for Harry. He might as well jump towards Zayn and the boy would probably give him a questioning look that would scream, _Who the fuck are you?_ And Harry’s not sure if Zayn’s doing this Avoiding-Harry-Styles-to-no-ends as part of the plan of some evil scheme. But it’s not funny anymore.

It didn’t help that when he opens his Twitter he sees this series of pictures from last night when Liam had slipped and Zayn helps him up. Not really help because Liam still lays there on his back as Zayn asks the Wolverhampton lad if he’s okay. And Harry didn’t miss the hand that Zayn had placed on Liam’s thigh and the way Zayn’s fingers brushes Liam’s thigh affectionately.

That does it. Harry isn’t fine anymore. He’s through being fine. Fuck! He’s deleting that word from his vocabulary from now on.

Harry never remembers to forget. And Zayn had forgotten, well, Harry only needs to remind the boy about things and people that should never be deleted from memory.

**

Harry’s needy. Zayn’s possessive. These two are similar in some ways if you look at it closely. They co-exist. No matter what difference and bullshit you may put into theory, one thing is for sure: Harry and Zayn need each other and couldn’t live without the other.

Sounds like a movie or book line? It’s the truth.

Zayn and Harry. Harry and Zayn. It has to be one or the other. There will never be _just_ Harry Styles, _just_ Zayn Malik. They need each other and that’s one of the reasons why they’re still intact even after being so diverse from the other person.

Harry’s needy. Zayn’s possessive. That’s what glues them together.

And maybe that’s the force that pulls Harry to Zayn’s suite, a few hours before their performance for BBC Radio 1’s Big Weekend. The craving’s eating Harry inside and out. He needs Zayn like a plant needs water in the hot summer. He’s Zayn’s possession after all, so that gets him the right to want Zayn okay?

‘Harry.’ Zayn looks calm and not at all surprise to find Harry in his room.

‘Zayn.’ Harry continues to stride towards the boy, who’s sitting comfortably at the white couch in the suite’s tiny living room.

Before Zayn could ask Harry whatever question the boy had in mind, Harry’s already occupying Zayn’s lap, straddling the boy on the couch and busying his lips so no words are necessary. Not that words will be of much use on the thoughts that runs through Harry’s mind. He prefers to do verbs –lots of them –as of the moment.

He holds Zayn’s face with his two big hands to keep the boy in place. He’s taking control this time. And he likes it.

Zayn tastes like cigarette, Harry’s not shock. It’s Zayn’s way of calming his nerves before a big show. And as Harry sucks more of Zayn’s flavours, he wonders about how he managed to live for ten long –dreadful− days without Zayn’s lips to rejuvenate his weary soul. There’s a hint of some spearmint in Zayn’s tongue when Harry deepens their kiss by sliding his tongue inside Zayn’s mouth.

Harry’s drunk in it. Drunk in kissing Zayn and at the thought that the boy’s kissing him back just as needy. There’s a burning sensation that runs all over Harry’s body as Zayn holds him down with the boy’s hands on both of Harry’s hips. Zayn grinds their cocks together and Harry should be ashamed that it’s him who lets out the first moan. But he’s too far from being embarrass when all he can think of is: Zayn’s kissing him, Zayn’s holding him, Zayn’s grinding his cock against his. Harry’s completely in Wonderland.

‘You like that?’ Harry asks teasingly, panting as he continues to create friction with their cocks despite the clothes. He stares at Zayn’s face –the face he believes to be craved by the gods and goddesses themselves. Zayn’s eyes are on him, full blown and crazy with want. And Harry knows, his eyes echo the same thing. ‘I hate you.’ Pushing down a bit harsher that Zayn lets out a little yelp.

 Zayn’s some sort of masochist though so he ignores the pain and rolls his eyes instead. ‘I know.’ He looks at Harry seriously for a few seconds. ‘I hate you too,’ he retorts. There’s no filtering between them, so Harry knows Zayn means it like Harry means his.

 ‘Fuck you,’ Harry whispers hotly on Zayn’s ear, causing a shiver to run down the boy’s spine.

‘Are you stating what you’re about to do?’ Zayn’s smirking and Harry’s angry because he’s the one who should be smug. Harry needs to fix that.

‘You will be,’ he replies and begins licking Zayn’s ears, one of the boy’s kinks. He nips at it a little as well because that’s how Zayn likes it, likes it that he can’t keep a moan from escaping his lips. It’s a little victory for Harry.

Harry continues to nips at Zayn’s earlobe then begins a trail of kisses down at the boy’s jaw with tiny stubbles because he hasn’t shave. Harry misses it too, the stubble on Zayn’s cheek that he has long memorized and adored. He didn’t stay too long on Zayn’s chiselled jaw because his lips are burning for Zayn’s mouth. Mouth that could do miracles.

There might be too much of tongues and a bit of teeth clashing as they kiss in a manner that could earn them a You-shouldn’t-be-doing-that-in-public-because-it-turns-other-people-on ticket. Well, if such ticket exists.

Harry has a plan. And he has to stick with the plan. So he does.

It’s a painful decision but Harry must carry on with his quest, thus he leaves Zayn’s lips, but not after biting on the boy’s lower lip –just for good measure. He’s hand clasps on Zayn’s hair and pulls the boy’s head back with it so he could get a free and unli access to his neck. And Harry doesn’t wait for a beat too long to sink his teeth and suck on the blessing –that is Zayn’s gorgeous neck−that is before him. If you’re there, you’d do the same so don’t blame Harry for being overly excited.

Zayn’s pliant on very rare occasions, so when he is, Harry doesn’t think anymore just goes with it and takes control. And that’s the plan all along so Harry does.

He bites, he nips, he kisses, and he sucks. Maybe Harry should do it for a living because he’s an expert to it. The sounds that rush out of Zayn’s lips are evidence to that statement.

 ‘Haz,’ Zayn says, voice gone deep and raw. ‘Don’t mark.’

 Harry smirks because following any of Zayn’s orders isn’t part of the plan. So Harry doesn’t.

 Harry poured every emotion− longing, sadness, happiness, and jealousy− into that tiny mark that he’s painting on Zayn’s neck with his lips and teeth. It’s going to bruise and that’s the plan, to leave a mark so Zayn remembers. So Zayn won’t _ever_ forget because Zayn’s forgetful sometimes.

‘Haz,’ Zayn warns again but doesn’t push Harry away but instead the pale boy grinds down harder that Zayn chants _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

Satisfied with the deep red bruise on Zayn’s neck Harry shifts position so he could get his knees on the floor. His lucky stars are align because Zayn isn’t wearing tight jeans but sweatpants, makes it easier for Harry. He pulls the band down along with Zayn’s black boxers –the garments pools on the floor. Zayn’s hard on stands in attention and Harry runs his tongue on his lips, he can’t wait to taste it, can’t wait to have Zayn’s dick in his mouth because, it’s been so long.

Ever so eager to have Zayn’s perfect cock inside his mouth, Harry holds it with one hand and dives into it, taking it all in one swift motion that leaves Zayn shuddering as the warmth of Harry’s mouth envelops him. Harry bobs up and down but not deep enough because it’s part of the plan. He licks the underside of Zayn’s dick and swirls his tongue on the slit that Zayn’s muttering gibberish that Harry has translated to: _Fuck, fuck, fuck, more._

Remember, Harry doesn’t follow orders. He’s the one in control.

Teasing Zayn more with kitten licks on the head, Harry gathers the precome forming on the head with his free hand and slicks his fingers with it but it isn’t enough, he has big hands. So he removes his mouth from Zayn’s cock and spits on his hand. It isn’t so hard to produce saliva when his mouth’s already watering from the taste of Zayn and from the future and further taste of Zayn.

Now, maybe you’re wondering why Harry can’t just lube. Well, he doesn’t carry lube around like his phone and most of the time there’s no lube at the bedside drawers. Maybe in fanfictions they do have that but in real life, Harry has to improvise. So he does.

He inserts one finger on Zayn’s tight hole, it isn’t a better position as well so he does it when he takes Zayn back in to his mouth, making Zayn buck his hips from the couch. It’s a short span of time that Zayn’s bottom elevates from the seat but Harry’s precise when he wants something so bad that he’s willing to move heaven and earth to get it, so he succeeds. And Zayn’s going jelly when he feels the finger inside him as his ass falls back on the cushion.

It stings −Harry knows− the sudden intrusion of his fingers on Zayn’s perineum. He hasn’t fuck Zayn for quite some time now so there’s resistance and Zayn’s face scrunches up in pain but he still doesn’t tell Harry off so the younger of the two continues. Zayn inches his butt close to the edge of the couch to give Harry easier access and in reward Harry finds that spot that set Zayn’s toes to curl.

Harry adds another finger and crooks them both inside of Zayn and the boy’s whimpering and panting so hard. Zayn doesn’t know where to concentrate his focus with Harry sucking him and fingering him all at once. It’s too much, Zayn’s feeling it in his groin and he doesn’t want to come yet. Not yet.

‘Haz, fuck me,’ Zayn pleads. ‘’M close.’

And who’s Harry to say _No_ to a Zayn-Malik-begging-to-be-fucked? Harry didn’t plan on following any of Zayn’s requests in that moment, that’s the rule. But there’s always an exception to the rule and this is one of those. So Harry obeys.

He got on his feet and removes his tight jeans and pants, freeing his aching dick that has precome leaking at the head. Zayn remains on the couch, just staring at Harry as he undresses himself. It’s a free show for Zayn that the rest of the world and humanity will never get to watch.

Of course, Harry stumbles on his own jeans, Zayn would be shock if he didn’t. He acts like it’s part of his lithe though and pulls Zayn to his feet. He kisses Zayn unchastely and starts reaping Zayn’s shirt over his head, their kiss breaking a little.

When all clothes are remove, Harry leads Zayn to the bedroom. Lips attach, hands roaming on body parts they could hold to, skin touching and burning against each other, Harry’s drunk again. Good thing his subconscious takes over and somehow manages to get them to the right direction of the white, queen size bed. Harry pushes Zayn harshly to the bed. He takes a moment to drown his eyes with the image of a naked Zayn in a plush bed.

Now isn’t the time to gloat or ogle because he’s free to do more than that. He’s free to fuck Zayn senseless. So he will.

He kneels between Zayn’s open legs and lays a kiss on the boy’s lips. ‘For the record,’ he pauses, face centimetres away from Zayn’s, ‘I still hate you.’ Zayn’s about to reply but Harry kisses him again, lounging his tongue inside the boy’s mouth. ‘What’s so wonderful about Liam’s thigh anyway?’ he asks angrily and bites Zayn’s bottom lip. Zayn groans.

‘What?’ Zayn looks surprise.

‘Don’t play dumb Zayn.’ He gets one of Zayn’s nipples between his fingers and twists them, just the proper amount of pain and pleasure to it. Zayn moans. ‘I saw the video the fans had posted.’ He twists it again and Zayn made a guttural sound that made Harry smirk.

‘Liam’s thigh?’ Zayn’s having a hard time puzzling Harry’s words when Harry keeps on twisting his nipples, both of his nipples this time.

‘Still going to deny it Zaynie?’ And Harry twists it a little harder this time. But like I said, Zayn’s a masochist. He’s all too willing to do anything for Harry, never hesitates to give Harry what he wants even if it hurts him. What’s a little pain when it’ll make Harry happy, right? ‘I saw it Zayn. You were _too_ affectionate towards Liam for your own good.’ His eyes are sharp, icy. ‘And you’re going to get punished.’ He grinds down his cock to Zayn’s erection, there’s an arousing noise as their exposed shafts touch and rub against each other.

Zayn’s mouth formed into an O and his eyes closes with pleasure that shoots through him when he feels Harry’s big cock against his. And he couldn’t halt the whimpering sounds he makes when Harry nips and sucks at the same spot on his neck again. It’s still new, the bruise that Harry left earlier, but it’s being abused again. He doesn’t stop Harry though. Zayn’s a masochist.

Harry pins Zayn down on the bed –holding both of Zayn’s wrist beside the boy’s head − as he rubs their erection together, the same sound of skin making contact and their heavy panting fills the room.

‘Do you want to come like this Zaynie?’ Harry asks impishly, ringlets of his curls willowing towards Zayn’s face.

‘Haz,’ Zayn chokes. He’s not even sure how to speak properly. But Zayn knows that he won’t be able to come like he wants with just grinding. He wants a proper shag that when he comes he’ll see not only stars but the whole fucking universe behind his eyelids.

Harry lets go of Zayn’s other hand as he reaches for the boy’s hole again. He inserts a finger again and pushes it deeper, halting the friction between their cocks.

‘I’m not going to use any condom Zayn,’ Harry says, sounding angry. ‘You’re going to get it raw because you need to be punished.’ He pushes the second finger inside and Zayn grunts. And he doesn’t wait for Zayn to adjust as he inserts another one, not even scissoring the boy during the entrance of the second finger.

When Harry removes his fingers there’s a quiet pop and he spits into his hands again and rubs it on his dick. Harry pauses again, savouring the moment that Zayn’s lying open for him. All the anger he feels got washed away as Zayn looks at him with so much trust and care that Harry wants to stop everything and just cuddle with Zayn. But he can’t because they’ve built so much momentum this time that it would be such a waste to throw it away. So when Zayn nods, all trusting –one of Zayn’s vulnerability−Harry holds his cock in front of Zayn’s entrance and thrusts slowly.

There’s a mixture of both pain and ecstasy in Zayn’s face when Harry moves deeper inside the tan boy. When he bottoms, Harry halts instead of pounding into Zayn like he plans to. Sometimes plans don’t always get to be executed, yeah?

‘You okay?’ Harry asks as he runs the other hand that doesn’t hold Zayn’s hips, up and down the boy’s exposed thighs.

Zayn nods. ‘Move,’ he says. And Harry obeys for the second time.

Harry wouldn’t –couldn’t−look away from Zayn’s face while he thrusts into him. Zayn’s-face-when-being-fuck should be included as one of the 7 Wonders of the World. So Harry fastens his thrusts and slam mercilessly into Zayn like he plans to because he couldn’t help himself, plus with all the filthy sound Zayn’s making beneath him. It doesn’t help Harry’s control when Zayn fucks back to him. It’s like Zayn’s begging for it, wanting it like Harry does.

‘I’m sorry Haz,’ Zayn says like the words are being punched out of him as Harry continues to pounds into him, hitting his prostrate at every thrust. His hands grip at the sheet for support as he tries not to make so much noise.

Harry didn’t want to hear anymore, he knows what Zayn’s pointing out and he wants none of it. It’s between them both now but Liam and the other intrusions are still lurking, like always. And Harry’s sick of it.

‘Just shut up,’ he says, angry again and slams harsher and deeper into Zayn, jerks him upward towards the headboard. ‘You’re mine.’ Another harsh thrust. ‘That’s all I want to hear.’

Zayn’s probably enjoying the pain, Harry can tell and that isn’t part of the plan either. So when Zayn reaches out for his cock, wanting friction for him to finally get off, Harry swats Zayn’s hand away and grips Zayn’s cock with his hand instead. He tugs it up and down in rhythm to his trust. He knows he shouldn’t be giving Zayn this pleasure but he does because he misses Zayn’s dick, he’s been looking forward to have that cock in him. Maybe he will… tomorrow, or the day after that. Or if he’s lucky enough he’ll get it later.

It only takes a few tugs of Harry’s wrist to have Zayn coming, squirting it on Harry’s hands and some on their stomachs. He sees the universe behind his eyelids as he groans Harry’s name when he comes. Zayn clenches around Harry, the pale boy’s thrust going erratic as if he’s chasing after his own orgasm. It didn’t take too long for Harry to follow Zayn in seeing the universe as he reaches his climax, Zayn’s name on his lips and shooting his come inside the tan boy.

Harry slips out of Zayn as his come leaks out from Zayn’s hole. And he looks smug. Well, he gets to fill Zayn Malik, that’s something to be proud of okay?

After Harry wipes the strips of come −with a stray shirt on the bed− on Zayn’s stomach, the boy flips himself as he lies on his stomach because his behind hurts. He has no regrets, that’s for sure.

‘I meant it Haz,’ Zayn begins weakly as he yawns. ‘I’m sorry.’ He closes his eyes and feels the dip of the mattress beside him as Harry occupies it. Emerald eyes meet his when he opens them. They’re facing each other, Harry lying down on his side. ‘I remembered. I just didn’t know how to make you feel that I haven’t forgotten.’

Zayn reaches for his hand and squeezes it softly, Harry wants to cry. Zayn didn’t forget.

‘I don’t know how to do this,’ Zayn explains. ‘I missed you so much that when I saw you, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if you’ve miss me as much or you’re mad at me for all the pictures you’ve seen with me and Pez lately.’ He stares at their intertwined fingers. ‘And I was so mad at you when you avoided me during the beginning of soundcheck.’

‘I did not.’ Harry looks scandalize.

‘You did,’ Zayn points out. ‘I couldn’t even look at you, afraid that I may cry if you won’t look back at me.’

Harry pulls himself closer to Zayn and kisses the boy’s temple. ‘Silly, Malik,’ he says fondly with a huge smile. ‘I should be the one nervous one.’ Zayn’s expression clearly states: _Why?_ ‘I was afraid that the fire I saw in your eyes before was merely a reflection of the fire burning in mine.’

‘Silly Styles.’ Zayn half smiles. ‘I love you,’ he says it so quietly as if Harry wasn’t meant to hear it.

Harry may not be a good listener but he’s good at catching impostant things like he’s good at remembering significant things and people. ‘Like I love you,’ he whispers back.

**

‘Zayn why do you have that red bandana around your neck?’ Caroline asks as she eyes the garment disapprovingly.

Zayn didn’t even look at Harry, he gives nothing away. But Harry hears it even if he has his back on Zayn. Hears the smile and tiny annoyance in Zayn’s voice when the boy says, ‘Coz it reminds me of something.’

It’s not the hickey that Harry left Zayn’s neck that assures him he won’t be forgotten. It’s knowing that the flames behind Zayn’s eyes is not a reflection of the fire that’s in his eyes but the burning craving that Zayn has for him. But it’s not bad to leave a mark on Zayn’s skin, once in a while, just to make sure the tan boy never forgets even when his attention is being pulled by thousand of other girls.

Harry knows that Zayn knows: people who you care about and people you love… you never forget them. You may not see them often, you may not touch them often, you may not kiss them often, they may be smiling and laughing with different people, they may be holding someone’s hands and kissing someone else’s cheek, but you will always be remembered by them because the heart never forgets even when the brain does.

 

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope I didn't disappoint you so much. xoxo


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